Fortissimum
by UWontKnoXD
Summary: {Peeta/Madge} Fortissimum - meaning 'strongest', in Latin. That is exactly what Peeta Mellark will decide to be. Follow him as he forms close bonds with people you wouldn't expect, and watch as his decent life plummets when he and his best friend are picked to participate in the lethal arena. Can Peeta hold in his violent side, or will he become just another piece in their Games?


**_Fortissimum_**

**by UWontKnoXD**

A/N: Before you read, I'd like to say that you must warn me if I slip from present to past tense a lot. I'm writing Harry Potter, mostly, now, and you should go check out THE GREENGRASS CONTRACT, as I am obliged to plug it at every turn.

ALSO: Please review, as it makes me happy, but please kindly correct me on any mistakes made involving canon. This is my first HG story, so yeah!

Story Information: This will be from Peeta's PoV. He will be bolder and better (in moi opinion) than in the stories. After all, as an AU, it's my right to mold him into the shape I want, right?' Eventually, it will be either Katniss/Peeta OR the seldom used: Peeta/Johanna Mason. For now, it'll be Peeta/Madge. Tell me what you think! Now, ENJOY.

Disclaimer: I don't own HG, but if I did, I'd die with happiness.

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**Chapter 1: Stale Bread**

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Squaring my broad shoulders (for an 11 year old), I turn and step out into the rain without hesitation. Glancing up for a slit second, I watch the thick blanket of grey clouds carry its wet cargo over the District. I allow myself a brief moment of contentment, as this weather was above all my favorite. The smell that came with the rain was calming, and soothed my constantly acting brain to slow. Breathing in the cool, moist air, I let the rain fall onto my face – and onto the two blackened loaves of bread that I had thrown into the fire at the last minute. However, I did not enjoy this moment of peace for long.

There is a soft whoosh, and a stunning blow lands on my temple. I stumble sideways, away from my home, my vision blurry, grabbing the rail to catch myself from falling. Shaking my head quickly, I stand up tall and whip around to face my mother. I tower over her, so I bend my head so that I meet her cold brown eyes with my dark blue without flinching. Her scrawny, wrinkly face scrunches up in a sneer before I feel another blow across my temple, but this time I feel the splintered end of the cheap wooden rolling pin. It scratches the same temple, causing a thin line of blood to ooze slowly from my face.

"You idiot boy!" She hisses, glaring up at me. "Why must you screw up everything? Throw your blasted burnings to the pigs, before you are thrown, too." The evil woman turns and storms back into the warmth of the bakery, which I had grown to loath as I'd grown up.

After taking a deep breath, I turn once again towards the large tree in front of our low building. She was still there, the girl I had been infatuated with since the age of five. Katniss Everdeen's hair is long and black and stuck to her pale face, and her cheekbones seem higher than normal due to the starvation inflicted upon her in recent weeks. Her normally cold grey eyes watch me, but not with their usual indifference. Now, they were filled with a desperate hunger; a plea for help. As I look at her, her eyes light up with hope. I glare down at the pieces of bread in my hands. Although burnt, itthey were still a decent pieces of bread, as only the outside was blackened. I deftly draw my knife and proceed to scrape off the burnt crisps, out, towards the yard. When I finish, I look back up and lock eyes with the girl, her plea the same. I once again glare down at the bread in my possession.

My mother had hit me, as she did daily. But why did this time really hurt me? She had never shown me any love or affection at all in my life; probably due to the fact that after after having my two brothers, she was trying for a girl, ad instead was stuck with me. With a cold swiftness, realization crashed down upon me; I realized that I was stronger than my mother thought. I could continue to try and wear her down, as I plan to now, and yet . . . I look back up at the girl. She looks to be days from starvation. What would my mother say, if I were to help this girl that she had yelled at for digging in our trash? She'd beat me and tell me off, and my kind old father wouldn't say anything, for as generous as he was, he was a spineless as a worm. My brothers had never received more than a couple beatings a week, for I was a much more . . . guilty target, as I was hoped to be girl.

I direct my glare back towards our bakery, just as one of my brothers places a loaf of bread on a pan to be slipped into the oven. And, with another start of realization, I thought about what I'd do for the rest of my life. When I turn 18, I'd be forced to either work in the mines or continue to work at the bakery, only to have free time on Sundays. I look at the palm of one of my hands. It's calloused and hard from years of chopping wood out back, throwing sacks of flour and gliding my hands over the rough exteriors, and consistently burning it when working at the oven.

Now, looking at my family through the window, instead of feeling the determination that I normally did, or the resignation that I would sometimes show, I looked at my family with calculations going through my brain. Over all, my family were not on my side. But really, what was my side; a group of people that I could trust, or simply friends?

I look one more time at the girl. I was an outcast in my own home, but now new priorities were popping up in my head. A mental list of things I should accomplish, and realized that I'd been neglecting.

I began making my way past the railing and towards the apple tree and its occupant. One: I'd have to get stronger. To work in the mines, the stronger I was, the better off. Two: Learn to use a weapon. Thinking over our District's population of around 8,000, I truly realized how likely it was for me to get picked. As I think this, I finally reach the girl, who looks up at me with her large grey eyes. Setting the bread in her hands, I think - Three: make friends. I'd heard of this girl, how she'd go out into the woods to hunt. I'd also heard rumors of her practicing with one of her father's crafted bows. As I lower the bread, I notice a small pile of wet, muddy baby clothes that she had undeniably been trying to sell.

She takes the slightly wet loaves and struggles to get up, so I offer her a hand. She takes it shakily, and gets up on wobbly knees, though she slips on the slick brown ground, and her ankle violently twists to the side. She cries out and falls backwards, but I catch her shoulders with my arms. I glance at her ankle, avoiding the pain in her eyes. It's already begun to bruise, and Katniss is visibly struggling to get it back into a capable walking position. I stop her, saying quietly, "Don't. You'll make it worse."

Slowly, I put one of my arms behind her knees and lift her in a bridal fashion, wincing as she sharply takes in a breath. She looks up gratefully, and for the first time in around five years, I hear her voice. "Thank you."

As I begin a light jog towards the Seam (feeling worse and worse every time I bounce downwards, her eyes squeezing shut in pain), I can't help but shiver at the hoarse and rough sound of her throat. The last I'd heard of her voice was in music class half a decade ago, when she'd sung in the front of all us little five year olds. The song and her voice had rolled through my body, making me shiver with an eerie pleasure.

When I reach what I believe to be her small house. Like all the buildings in District Twelve, it was low to the ground and sagging slightly to the side, with black-stained windows and grey walls. I use me shoulder to drive the weak wooden door inwards, as my hands are a little occupied.

I stumble out of the cool rain, and the smell of musty wood fills my nostrils. I glance around. A little girl was sitting at a table, slowly braiding her blonde hair. She looked nothing like her sister; if anything, she looked like me, with blue eyes. But these eyes were sad, and they broke my heart just looking at them.

Hearing us, she looks up sharply, and sees Katniss, half conscious, in my arms, and she squeals and brushes of the table of a couple plates and cheap silverware. Gesturing for me to lay her sister down on the table, the girl rushes off into another room.

I carefully set down the girl, who's weight in no way compares to the hundred pound sacks of flour that I deal with at the bakery. She's dropped off into unconsciousness, and the little girl returns, with a middle aged woman in tow as I take the loaves of bread out of Katniss's hands and put them on the counter. The younger sister is an exact replica if the older woman, but the older woman seems to stumble as she walks in, and there is a vacant feel about her. I touch my hand gently to Katniss's head. Looking back at the older woman, I say, "She sprained her ankle a bit ago, and it feels like she has a fever."

A memory flashes through my head, of my father going with me to school. Pointing her out, he wassaying, _"__I wished to marry that girl's mother when I was younger, but she went and fell in love with a coal miner."_

"_Why would he pick a coal miner over a baker?"_ I had asked, confused, and the man smiled sadly, demonstrating that he held no grudge towards Katniss's deceased father.

"_He had the most beautiful voice. They say that when he sings, __even __the birds stop to listen."_

I study the middle-aged woman before me when she doesn't answer. She is very skinny, but her face was shaped in a perfect teardrop, and her skin was still smooth unaffected by age, accompanied by a slim nose and thin lips. The girl (Prim, I now remember her name is) takes her mother's hand and puts it on Katniss's shoulder.

"Come on, Mom . . ." Prim whispers. When there is no response, Prim cries tearfully, "Mom, Katniss is hurt and sick! Please, say something!"

The woman looks down slowly at the still form of the girl in front of her and, somewhat robotically, began searching over her body for injuries. Prim breathes out of her nose, as says quietly, "She's helping, at least." But still, several tears slip down her young cheeks.

I back up a few steps as the woman takes no notice of me, snatching at various supplies and herbslike around the room. I look at Prim, who has taken hold of her sister's hand, and I ask tenderly, "What happened to her? Your mother, I mean?"

Prim rubs soothing circles on the palm of the hand, and replies, "After Dad died a few months ago, she stopped doing . . . things. She just sat in her chair and stared at the wall. Katniss called it depression, so we've had to do things ourselves."

Mrs. Everdeen grabs a roll of white bandage and wraps Katniss's affected foot in it, up tight against the bone. Grabbing a small broken box of cardboard, she lifted the foot up onto it, and Prim hurried out of the room to see if there was any ice left in the house. After several minutes, Katniss had a damp towel on her forehead, her feet elevated, and some herbal tea on the table when needed, as many herbs were attributed to fighting the fever.

When she'd finished, Mrs. Everdeen began to slow down, and soon, her evident intent was to get back into her chair to once again ceaselessly watch the wall. Before she can, I grab her upper arm and turn her towards me. Locking my eyes with her vacant ones, I say quietly and clearly, "Look, I know it probably hurts, and you probably loved him very much. But your husband loved his children in the same way, and look what's been happening to them. If you want to grieve about your husband while your kids whither to skin and bone, I know that said husband would never forgive you."

As I say this, Prim walks into the room and watches with wide eyes, a pillow for her sister in her hand. And for a split second, as I again locked my eyes with her mother's, I see the unoccupied orbs flash with something that looked like shame. Thus the adult begins to shuffle away from the chair, and out of the room. Prim watches with those same eyes, and when her mother had fully left, she runs up and wraps her arms around my waist and buries her head into my upper stomach.

"Thank you." She whispers. I pat the back of her head and try for modesty.

"It wasn't much. The bread is burnt, and Katniss looked like she really -"

"Not just about that." Prim says louder. Releasing me and stepping back, she says with teary eyes, "About what you said to Mom, too. She didn't sit in her chair, and in the other room it looks like she's folding her old clothes. Thank you for beginning to bring my mother back."

Again, she embraces me, and I hug her back. After a minute, I quietly excuse myself and leave the small house, to go back to the abusive bakery I'd spend most of my days in.

For the next five years, the list I'd thought out was branded into my mind, and every day I repeated it over and over. I'd work in the bakery, go to school, and lift weights there in gym class until they kicked me out. When I left school, I found that my brothers often helped more with the bakery, and so I had an hour by myself. Until around my thirteenth birthday, I used that to explore the Meadow and sometimes go through the loose part in the chain link fence to explore the forest.

However, on said birthday, my mother and I got into a very large argument over what my priorities were. She'd shoved me out the door and told me to go chop the wood, which was a first. As there weren't many trees in the District, the Capital would send us a monthly supply of full logs, shipped straight from District 7. It was normally father's job to chop the wood, as it was believed that us kids would hurt ourselves doing it.

However, that month was special. The truck had come and deposited the logs, but that wasn't the only cargo. By chance, when they'd been cut, someone must've left their tool in the tree, as there was a smooth, metal hatchet sticking out of one of the logs. It was a massive improvement to our poor stone axe, and when I hefted the new axe in my hand, it seemed to conform into my palms. It was double bladed, with a larger and shorter side. Quickly realizing that this could save me part of my list, I'd hidden it under a bush behind the bakery for the next time I could spare an hour. I had proceeded to chop the wood with the old axe, which I found that I was quite good, as my weightlifting had really benefited me in matters of strength.

And so, starting the next day, I ventured out into the woods with the hatchet and tried . . . everything with it. I practiced throwing it, slashing things, and even cutting down younger trees. The most fun to do, however, was climbing. I'd hook my feet around the handle and climb the trees using only the strength in my arms and hands.

The hatchet also proved quite useful in other ways, as well. In the earliest of mornings, I'd sneak out into the forest and perch myself in a medium-sized tree, and wait for an hour. Sooner or later, the wildlife would forget I'm there, and that provided me with some easy pickings. Raccoons and rabbits would be the first to cross underneath me, and as a result, I'd invented a little game. If either animal meandered its way underneath my tree, I'd throw my hatchet down so that it lands in front of them and scares them back, where I'd jump out of the tree and into their path. Then, I'd either grab the hatchet and decapitate the animal or snap its neck. Although it sickened me the first time, I reasoned that meat was meat was meat, and I was doing what I could to get some extra things for my ungrateful family.

This form of hunting was not very consistent and I only got a few rabbits a week. But on occasion, a white-tail deer would prance its way under me, but I'd always been too scared to act on it. That is, until around my fifteenth birthday. I had set up my routine as usual, and waited until a young doe found its way under the tree. I looked down at it slowly and contemplated what I could do. I hefted my hatchet in my hand. I may as well try it. It couldn't fight back, as it was a doe, so I was relatively safe.

Making up my mind, I'd leapt down and cleaved it at its neck. The doe had run desperately forward, blood gurgling from its fur, until at last it fell sideways, twitching.

I'd stepped forward and shivered, as that was the most painful death I'd caused. Before it could register, however, I heard voices. Immediately, I had ducked behind a tree so that the owners of the voices wouldn't see me. I could hear their conversation:

"You're right, Gale, I heard it too." Came the voice I'd memorized over many years. The voice of Katniss Everdeen.

"Yeah, it came from over here. Is that blood that I smell?" 'Gale' answered. There was a moment as the two breathed in.

"Yes, definitely. What's – what's that?" Came Katniss, this time much closer. I brace myself for a fight, or a quick flee. I drew in a long, silent breath as I put my back up against the tree so that I was facing the dead deer.

Footsteps came up on either side of me, and they passed me, as they were caught up in the deceased deer in front of them. To the left in front was Katniss, and to the right in front was who I assumed was Gale, who looked to be about as tall as me, but had the same hair as Katniss (but shorter, obviously). Both had a quiver on their backs with their bows over them.

"What the hell made that wound?" Gale had murmured, kneeling down and studying the bloodied mess that was the deer's neck.

Hefting my hatchet loudly, I step forward and say, "Step away from the deer."

As the two whip around, I hold the hatchet in my right had, with a small knife in my left, out in front, ready to guard if necessary.

Katniss had boggled at me and cried, "Peeta?" while Gale had set his jaw and stared him in the face. I stared right back, and motion them sideways. Gale doesn't move.

"Your kill, huh? How'd you do it?" Gale said, looking from the deer to me. "With your axe, I mean."

I shrugged. "Hid up in a tree until they forgot I was there. Then I jumped down and hacked her in the neck."

Gale looks down at the deer again. "How many have you killed with that tactic?"

I reply, "This is my first deer, but I've gotten loads of rabbits and coons with it. Now, please step aside while I skin and gut it. Then you guys can be on your way."

Gale does, and I kneel down and use my knife to begin performing the necessary task. After a minute, Gale kneels down next to me. "Have you done this before?"

I pause for a moment, and then shake my head. "I haven't, but I know how to."

Katniss kneels down next to me. She hadn't spoken since she'd said my name, as she was still shocked about seeing me here. Gale continues, "I'll gut and skin it if you give me a third of the meat."

"Done." I say quickly. The gutting and skinning was much to warm and fleshy for me. As Gale went to work, Katniss asked softly, "Peeta, what are you doing out here?"

I shrug. "Same thing as you. Hunting for my family."

Katniss shakes her head. "Don't lie, Peeta. Your family's well off, for people in Twelve. What's the main reason?"

After a minute of just listening to the sounds of Gale cutting the deer, I reply, "I've been practicing for a couple years now, trying to get good at throwing a hatchet, cutting or climbing with one."

"Why?" Gale asks gruffly, grunting as he pulls out a healthy bit of intestine. "It's not like you'll be picked for the Games. I've got my name in there almost forty times. You've probably barely got 6 in, I bet."

I level a glare at him as Katniss reprimands him. I say coldly, "I'll have you know that I don't expect to get picked, but if anyone I care about gets picked, I'm volunteering. If I were to get picked, I know my brothers wouldn't volunteer, so I'll be the better man. After all, my mother hates me, my brothers tolerate me, and my father follows my mother."

There is silence, and Gale says, "I'm sorry, I didn't assume . . ."

"It's fine. I'd be in a much worse state if my name was in as much as yours." I say quickly, remembering number three on my list. Gale nodded, understanding.

"So . . . Peeta." Katniss said slowly. "I've seen you with Madge a lot recently. How are you two doing?"

I shrug. "She's my best friend. Everyone else is either scared of me because I'm big or they're jealous that I'm part of the Merchant Class."

We were all silent for a long while after Katniss's failed attempt at conversation. When Gale had finally finished gutting and skinning the deer, I insisted that he and Katniss take all of the meat, or else people would be suspicious. So I ended up taking the hide, and after saying goodbyes, the three of us split off to, in their case, hunt, and in my case, go back to town to sell the deer hide.

Over the next year, I drifted closer to Katniss, but stayed in the same spot I was with with Gale. We treated each other fairly, and didn't resent each other. However, we both considered our partnership to be an alliance. At school, Madge, Katniss, Gale and I often partnered for activities and sat by each other at the lunch table. I grew very close to Madge, and soon we were best friends. She and Katniss (who were somewhat close before) became close enough to be sisters. As for my home situation, my mother, who noticed the amount of food and hide trickling into the household, ceased her constant scolding and beatings slightly. Prim, who still felt heavily indebted to me, visited me every day, and I'd show her the cakes that I'd frosted, or we'd talk about things that were happening. Soon, she looked up to me as the brother she never had, and I loved her like the sister my mother wished she had.

Madge and I spent almost every waking moment with each other. We knew each other like the back of our hands, and we were both fine with it. Every day I spent with her, the more my feelings grew. It was like the infatuation I'd had about Katniss, but this was stronger, and was growing steadily.

Madge and Prim soon became acquainted, and Prim saw her as the sister she wished she had. Although Katniss was the best Prim could have, she wouldn't try on clothes, or pick flowers, or play with dolls. Madge did all those things, and more. My group of allies and friends were content.

However, this peace would not last far beyond my 16th birthday.

**-ooOoOoOoo-**

The light is blinding, and I mentally curse the day. Sure, it was Reaping Day, and one of the children of the District would be chosen to be massacred, but I was slightly more angry at the clear blue sky, with the sun beating down on the necks of the well clothed children. Long shadows were cast onto the Square by the camera crews perched like vultures on top of the Justice Building and surrounding structures. Peacekeepers were lined up and around the square, circling in front of the large stage at the steps of the Justice Building. On top were two large glass balls, filled with paper slips.

I glance around me. All the boys my age are lined in uniform rows, and the girls were on the opposite side of the Square, with a space for the tributes to walk. Gale was the farthest away from the line, and Katniss was almost directly across from me. Looking up again at the stage, there are three chairs, two of which are filled. I see the clown-looking fashion-savvy woman, and District 12's escort, Effie Trinket. He lips are pursued do hard that I looks like her mouth is a wrinkled pepper. Madge's father, a tall, thin, balding man and the mayor of the District, was glancing at the empty chair nervously. Of course, the supposed occupant of the empty chair was somewhere in the Victor's Village, drinking his memories away.

Fortunately, said occupant was now stumbling up onto the stage with a drunken stupor. He hollered something before plopping down into his chair, and I frown. Maybe this was why we never had any Victors.

Madge's father gets up and begins his heavily rehearsed speech with a droning tone, showing how much enthusiasm he actually felt towards the subject of Panem and the Games.

When he'd finished, Trinket pranced up to the microphone and cried, "Welcome! Welcome, welcome. It is a great honor to be here to select the two lucky tributes that will represent this great District in the 74th Hunger Games." Her Capital accent clips her vowels and drawls out some words, and I get a slight headache just from hearing it go past her bright pink lips.

"As always, ladies first." She says, turning and going for the glass ball. The crowd draws in a collective breath as Trinket stuffs her gloves hand deep into the ball and snatching one from the very bottom. Taking the folded piece of paper out, she turns back and smooths it out. Talking into the microphone, she announces,

"Katniss Everdeen."

My heart stops, and the breath everyone was holding was let out. There was complete silence as Katniss wipes the shock from her face and began to walk her way towards the aisle and began walking up towards the stage, a stray tear running down her cheek. This was interrupted when a scream resonated into the air.

"KATNISS!" Her little sister sprinted over, desperately grabbing at her sister as the Peacekeepers held her back. Prim looks forward, sobbing, shaking her head. With desperation, she creams screams, "I VOLUNTEER!"

The Peacekeepers immediately stop blocking her and she stands up straight. "I volunteer as tribute."

I swear under my breath as Katniss yells, "NO! Prim, don't!"

Prim ignores her as she walks her way towards the stage.

"NO! PRIM!" Katniss screams, and I take it upon myself to get her out. Stepping away from the others, walk into the aisle, walk past the confused Peacekeepers, and grab Katniss, hoisting her up onto my shoulder. I walk away as she continues to pound my back.

Trinket (excitedly) says, "Oh, I believe we have a volunteer!"

Prim goes up numbly and stands at the stage. Trinket asked, "What's your name?"

"Prim." She says quietly, crying. I set Katniss down by her mother, and they embrace immediately, Katniss weeping. I walk back to my spot as Trinket continues, "I'll bet my buttons that was your sister. Right?"

Prim answers almost too quietly, "Yes."

"Let's have a big round of applause for our brave little volunteer!" Trinket cries, clapping her is met with silence, until a girl steps out into the aisle.

"I volunteer as tribute for Prim." Madge says loudly, and my heart turns even colder. The two girls I care about have all been put in danger, and now my best friend was in it, too.

Trinket blinks, her massive lashes bouncing up and down. "Well – er – is that allowed?" She asks, turning. The Mayor is staring at his daughter, wide eyed, and Madge calls out.

"It's not in the rulebook. Get down here, Prim." Madge says sternly. Obviously keeping in her tears with all her strength. Prim does and runs to her, and they wrap each other in a tight hug. Then, Madge bravely stepped up to the stage, and Trinket grabbed her arm and hoisted her in front of the microphone.

"And what's your name?" Trinket enquires excitedly.

"Madge Undersee." She says. I blink hard. How could she do this to us? But then I think, 'Who would I rather see in the Games?' And my train of thought ended there.

"Let's give an even bigger hand for our second volunteer, Madge!" Trinket claps her hands, but no one follows suit. Moving on quickly, she says, "And now, for the boys."

She walks over, snatches a paper faster than she did before, and walked out to the microphone.

"The male tribute is . . . Peeta Mellark." Trinket states, and my body goes numb. My limbs respond to the call, but my mind doesn't. What happened? Vaguely, I hear crying and someone yelling something. Whatever were they yelling about?

I fully grasp the situation when Trinket grabs my shoulder and says, "Let's give some applause for Peeta!"

I don't know what she was expecting, but the only thing that happened was Madge, bursting into silent tears and wiping at them furiously.

Trinket, not missing a beat, backed up and told us to shake hands. I look at Madge's tear streaked face and extend my hand to my best friend. She looks at it for a bit before taking it softly, still weeping. When I grasp her hand, I pull her in softly and hug her, resting my chin on her head, and murmuring something about how we'd be okay.

She continues to weep into my chest as the crowd presses three fingers to their lips and hold it out to us, and Madge cries harder. Trinket ushers us into the Justice Building quickly after saying the ever-repeated line.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds ever be in your favor."

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A/N: Hope you enjoyed Give me suggestions on who you want Peeta to be paired with eventually. Each chapter will contain from 5,000-10,000 words, not including the A/N's. So yeah! See you in a week!


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